


Wrath and ruin

by Mieper



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game), Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game), Warcraft - All Media Types, Warhammer Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-02-29 03:08:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18769975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mieper/pseuds/Mieper
Summary: An attempt to save Azeroth from the threat of the Scourge merely sents the threat (and more) to a different one, with all the havoc that entails. And if that was not enough, more than one world is already linked in.(Crossover story with planar hopping concept written by someone who could not summarize his way out of a paper bag. Have fun anyway)





	1. Prologue: Desperate Measures

Desperate times called for desperate measures. A phenomenon as old as time. So it stood to reason that if one knew the situation would soon be desperate, one should act swiftly, with all the resolve of desperate times and the planning desperate acts so often lacked. Dogged determination and carefully consideration might prevail together where either would fail alone.  
  
At least, that was what Malygos told himself as he went further in the ritual. It had many hallmarks of a last gambit, great risks, no failsafe, no second chances. Yet if this was to succeed, it would rid Azeroth of one of its greatest evils. It had to be done. The only other option was to let the task fall to fools without a chance of victory, and to let evil reign supreme.   
  
It had to be done. For the good of all on Azeroth, it had to be done and right.  
  
Even with all his power, all his knowledge and experience, and with the right place, the procedure was far from a breeze. There was resistance, a struggle, and even the slightest lapse in concentration might prove catastrophic.  
  
The ley lines of a world were not made to be easily shifted.  
  
And yet that was Malygos' doing. At first, he had considered a permanent manipulation, to grant his flight all the power he could. Instead, his shift of the arcanosphere would only last for a short time, and would not be gentle. He bared his teeth as he saw Icecrown in his scrying pool. Ley lines were great tools for all sorts of arcane work, and he would ignore all that, use there power like an immense sledgehammer. Nothing, not even the Lich King in his dark fortress, would be able to resist such might.  
  
He moved through the ritual, feeling how the energy gathered was flowing through every fiber of his body, invigorating now, with a promise of pain in the future.  
  
At first, the effects were subtle. Casters found it harder to concentrate. Minor spells, like those replacing candles, fluttered and dissolved. The pace increased, and soon later, the first users of magic felt that something was amiss. Yet none knew what to do, and none could have done something in sort order.  
  
Rapidly, the disturbances became more erratic and vastly more dangerous. Magic went entirely haywire, at times with lethal results. All across the world, though some places were hit far harder than others, for reasons no one, not even Malygos, knew.  
  
In the depths of Grim Batol, a portal to border regions between the elemental planes of earth and fire ruptured, flooding several levels of the structure with magma. Thousands of Twilight Hammer cultists died, and the chamber the portal had let to was gone without a trance.  
  
At the bottom of the sea, the maelstrom flared up in fury for but a moment, and many Naga met their end as the water pressure increased to a degree even their buildings and bodies could not survive.  
  
Below the ruins of Lordaeron City, below even most of the Undercity, a demon's ritual was shattered, twisted beyond recognition and amplified a hundred fold, and all of the city vanished in a blinding flash of light, leaving only a crater and a few wildfires.  
  
None of this mattered to Malygos though. He was utterly focused on his target, bringing the entire power of the ley network down, battering Icecrown with all of it. Thousands of tonnes of ice were vaporized in an instant, and the glacier shook in its roots. The citadel however was of a more resilient make, its wards of almost absurd strength. They held long enough for the Lich King to realize what occured, and to strike back with all his might. Invisible forces clashed over the windswept glacier planes, colliding like the blades of wrathful gods, wreaking havoc all over the landscape for a dozen miles in all directions.  
  
Malygos stumbled as he felt his power batter against the defenses of the citadel. The sudden change almost caused him to fall, and the return blow, no doubt send by the Lich King, came close to sending him down. The Spellweaver let out a wordless growl of hate and redoubled his efforts. He felt as if he was on fire, the magic too powerful even for him to contain it for long. No matter. He only needed it for minutes. Nothing, not even Icecrown Citadel and its cursed tyrant could withstand the barrage of such magnitude. Grinning through blooded teeth, some of them shattered, he pressed his assault. The whole glacier was a festering tumor on this world, and Malygos would tear it out, no matter what else. Icecrown would be removed from the face of the planet.  
  
His opponent arrived at the same conclusion. But a creature such as the Lich King would never consider defeat. So he fought on, for hours as it seemed, though only moments had passed. When overextension of his abilities brought him to the brink of death, he drained the life of his guards to rise up again. All around the fortress, the fabric of reality began to dissolve, first into a thin veil, than into nothing but a memory.  
  
Sensing yet another incoming wave, the Lich King launched a gambit of his own. He reached into the twisting madness outside, grabbing every little droplet of magic there was to keep Icecrown whole.  
  
Irresistable force wished to smash an indestructable object. A contest that might go on forever, if the veil of reality had been stronger.  
  
Magic was a fickle thing, and the more reality broke down, the more it was shaped by concepts and words, even those its users didn't know they thought about. For Malygos' battered subconsciousness, almost torn appart by energies even he was unable to fully control, it mattered little where Icecrown was as long as it was far away from Azeroth. And so the magic did its work, ripping the great fortress out of the glacier and hurling it through the unreal nothingness far, far away.


	2. High Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, I am bad at summaries. Hope you still enjoy. Have to write some of the stats for the charactes involved.

Ardis  
  
_A nest of vipers around a vain fool and an old, vainer fool. How far has this great county fallen?_  
  
Miserable thoughts, but of a sort Aldous Reynell knew all too well by now. Ardis was a city in decline, and its rulers either didn't accept this fact or sought ways to abuse it. If things went on like this, the city and indeed the County or Ardeal had maybe a couple of years before the complete collapse of public order. Magistrate Aldous Reynell wanted to stop this, or, if that was impossible, to get out with as much gold as possible. For now, the situation inside the palace was reasonably stable, and so he stayed and watched for more ways of making coin.  
  
One of the main reasons for the downward spiral sat in front of him. Corrupt officials like himself might embezzle from the treasure, take bribes for licenses from merchants or looking past some crimes for cash, but at least they did ensure things didn't go down the drain even further. Cheliax and Taldor both had plenty of corruption and yet remained the most powerful nations on the whole continent. But Solismina Venacdahlia had managed alone what a thousand of the corrupt state employees and the criminal minds of the county had not done, and had indeed tried to avoid. The countess was the worst kind of decadent noble idiot: The kind who thought themselves savvy enough to interfere with the governance of their holdings and gave favor and the money belonging to it to sycophants and personal favorites. Governing and nepotism were not things Aldous had anything against, as long as it was done competently. But the countess was seemingly only able to overspend, gave the lands to men with no intent on sustainability, and was surprised when those men fled the county after a few years or even months, carrying bags filled with gold and leaving estates that might as well have been raided by orcs.  
  
Countess Venacdahlia tried to maintain an imposing, yet graceful and charming presence. She failed on all three counts. Overdressed in a pink ballgown and wearing far too much in both makeup and jewelery, she did look nothing short of ridiculous. Any attempt at grace was cut short by age and laziness, and everyone who spend more than a minute with her and wasn't a tool noticed the petty, vindictive nature under the false smiles. If any peasant had wanted to illustrate why the rule of the nobility had to be cast down and its members hanged, Solismina Venacdahlia was able to show all possible justifications at once. And now that she had married this madman from Pitax, everything would go down the drain even faster.  
  
Hiding his revulsion behind a mostly neutral expression with just a hint of subservient admiration, Aldous let his gaze wander through the audience chamber. As always, most present here were meaningless sycophants, courtiers spying for someone, and in parade armor thoroughly unsuited for their actual duties. The real dangers were present too though.  
  
Doctor Valindra Crownswill was currently speaking to the countess, presenting some tiny clockwork device to the delight of the foolish old noble. A small replica of a dog, with a mirror mounted on its back. The toy was useless, but the doctor was certainly not. And she certainly didn't fit the local nobility, whatever she claimed. First of, she appeared to be competent in an actual trade.  
  
She wore an immaculate black and silver uniform, in the style of the Molthuni high command, with a sword at her side, and a dark grey leather duster. Her long black hair was combed away for a rather beautiful, if pale face and worn in tight ponytail. Military fashion was nothing out of the ordinary, but both the coat and the sword were simple designs, with little to no accessories, and both might even have been used.  
  
But by far the most dead giveaway was her posture. She stood like someone who had actual earned an officer's rank, and she carried herself like someone who knew how to use a blade properly.  
  
And than there was the scar. An thin line running straight down from her left temple all the way to her jawline. And she showed it. Any local would have concealed something like that.  
  
A few steps behind her stood her closest ally. Silas Hargrave was also young, maybe a few years older than Crownswill, and wore clothes in the same style. Aldous had heard contradictory rumours. The man was known to be a successful merchant, but held no noble title, and some claimed him to he a spineless hedonist, while others spoke of a fighter of great skill. With the money he made, maybe he could be one. Enough gold invested in enchanted gear could enable a commoner with no training to carve a bloody path through armored knights, after all. Still, better not to underestimate anyone lightly.  
  
On the other side of the room was perhaps the one man Aldous outright feared, although this was by reputation only. Nocturn Darkest, dressed in dark reds with fur trim, was an old man, aged gracefully for sure, but still an old man. Yet everyone knew if the old codger set his gaze on something he wanted, he would get it, and he thought for his wealth and power like a dragon for its hoard. Those who crossed him tended towards short lifespans and frequent vanishing. On the good side, he was rarely active these days.  
  
The procedings went on for several more hours, gradually shifting from the formal court procedure to a more open evening gala. Keeping tabs on everyone was fruitless, so Aldous kept his eyes on Hargrave, who appeared to be the most active player, constantly talking to various courtiers. Darkest excused himself shortly after, but more new players entered. A knight in black made an introduction as Maldred Richter, and a paladin by the name of Solomon Prire followed suit, pleading in a rousing speech to be granted aid in some glorious quest.  
  
Once the pompous man was done with his self-righteous drivel and was of course promised a thousand crowns for his plight, Aldous left the audience room. Dismas was waiting in one of the outer chambers. The grim highwayman had taken one of the many armchairs, but every bit of him spoke of wary readiness. Highwaymen did not get to such an age or success by being careless.  
  
"Who is it, boss?" His voice was low and calm, devoid of all emotion.  
  
"Doctor Crownswill."  
  
"So the clockmaker. Where do you want the body?"  
  
Aldous shook his head. "No need to kill just yet. There is something wrong with that one, I can feel it. And I want to know what it is."  
  
"Any preferences for the method?"  
  
Aldous smiled at that. "You know me, Dismas. Whatever works is fine by me as long as it doesn't leave too big a mess."  
  
Dismas nodded and rose up.

* * *

  
For many, the most important thing in shadowing a person was not to loose the target. Dismas preferred a different approach, placing most of his focus on remaining undetected. Someone who knew they weren't followed would not take additional steps to hide their activities, and would more easily caught in something compromising. For the sake of stealth, losing the target for a short time was perfectly acceptable, for unaware targets would usually not try to shake of pursuers. The occasional paranoid individual would still try, but those were rare enough.  
  
So Dismas made not particular move to observe Crownswill. He simply partook in the party, sipping whine and talking about the nonsense so many courtiers cared for. He could barely fathom the fuss being made about Baron Quill dismissing the second pregnant maid in three months. Dismas was willing to bet nearly all other courtiers had done something similar, just more discredly.   
  
A better chance opened when the card games began. Crownswill was known to gamble, and since any criminal along the roads swiftly learned his cards, Dismas simply joined in. For his own sake, he would have never wagered such sums, even if most of his opponents were easily fooled fops. Lady Luck could betray any man at any time. Yet while he worked for Aldous, the magistrate would cover his losses.   
  
Whatever else might be said about her, Crownswill knew how to play and do so well. To any keen eyed observer, it was obvious that she and Dismas were the only players of decent skill. Which meant most of the others only learned it once their third re-buy ran dry. With more false smiles and dishonest congratulations, the group dispersed.  
  
Dismas saw Crownswill head for the exit and followed with some distance. Once outside the palace grounds, he ditched his noble act and returned to his nature, lurking in the shadows, silently scurrying from cover to cover. His target made her way through the noble district, swiftly but not overly so. Only once they left the heavily guarded and patrolled streets did she slow down and entered the shadows too. She gave one quick glance before disappearing into one of the many empty, decrepit manors along the old main street.  
  
Dismas followed her to the entrance and hugged the wall there. Going in further was begging to be seen and likely dealt with. Still he could hear voices from within, speaking in hushed tones in a language he didn't know. Crownswill was one speaker, the other voice was male, but unknown to him. _Short sentences, devoid of emotion. Professional Connection._ He listened further. Crownswill said more, answering to questions by his judgement. _So a hidden master, or just a brusque ally?_ He shrugged internally. That was something the magistrate would have to figure out himself.  
  
The two inside talked for a few minutes, then there were steps towards the door. Dismas scurried around the building, placing a corner between him and the entrance.   
  
Just as the steps reached the front door, he sensed movement behind him. He spun around, bringing the muzzle of his pistol up against Crownswill's sternum just as the tip of her weapon reached his neck. Both froze, not daring to move further.  
  
"You're good at this", Dismas muttered earnestly.  
  
"Thanks, you too. Might even have missed you completely."  
  
He glanced down on the blade in her hand. "Are we to remain frozen like this forever?"  
  
"No", she said with a chuckle. "Lets do the classic, I take the blade away, you put down that gun."  
  
"Fine by me. Should I could to three or you?"  
  
Another chuckle, and the blade was pulled back. A scoundrel of his word, Dismas lowered the pistol.  
  
Sheathing her weapon, Crownswill threw him a curious look. "If you wanted something, why spy on me? Maybe just asking might have sufficed."  
  
"Someone has taken an interest in your activities at court." Always establish yourself as minion, but keep the master hidden. Enough people knew better than to punish minions when there true foe was someone else.  
  
"And I might be inclined to talk about them, but not here. An abandoned house would make it look ominous, wouldn't hit." She gave a little smile.  
  
"Of course, ma'am. And I just happen to know a lovely tavern with no questions and staff suffering from blindness and deafness caused by the look of gold."  
  
"Sounds like a place from heaven."   
  
Dismas gave a dramatic bow and proceeded to lead her to the Pouncing Cat Inn. He had not lied, it was a discreet place, rarely frequented and with prices to match the service provided. It was here that the spies and cultists met, made pacts over good wine and sometimes decided to kill each other the next day, but never committed the deed here. This was neutral ground, and respected for it.  
  
Old Mero behind the bar saw Dismas and and placed a heavy bottle and two glasses on the counter without a word. Equally silent, Dismas threw him a small purse and the barkeep left. Dismas took glasses and bottle to one of the many low tables and sank into one of the sofas around it. Crownswill to a seat on the opposite side, pulling a cigarette with a long holder from a coat pocket and lighting it.  
  
"So", she said as he filled both glasses, "what does that boss yours want to know."  
  
"Whatever it is I can find out. You're a newcomer and a successful one, so a lot question to be asked."  
  
"How about a deal then?", she asked after taking a first sip. "I have the stuff your boss wants, and you have things I want. We could help each other out."

* * *

  
  
This was getting interesting. The court had been the opposite, meaningless meandering and honeyed words. Yet this, this might a chance to achieve much more, and not only an invitation for this excellent brandy. Now at ease, Valindra took another close look at the man who had followed her. He was of average height and build, yet clearly fit and had proven himself a good sneak. The pistol and dagger she saw at his belt were of good make and clearly well used, and his clothes, though well worn and made for rougher circumstances, were of high quality too. His age was harder to guess, with a short scraggy beard and a faces lined not by age, but by something else. Those eyes had seen a lot, she noted. It was a look she knew all too well, from looking in the mirror.  
  
"What exactly is it you seek?", he asked, sounding unconvinced, but not disinterested either.  
  
"For now, another glass of this stuff and a name. That would a good opening."  
  
"Dismas Wollington, at your service." He refilled her glass.  
  
"Valindra Crownswill", she answered and gave a mocking bow. "Of course, you know that part."  
  
"I do. What I don't know is why you are in Ardis, and what you intend."  
  
Valindra thought about it for a moment, before the deciding to do something unusual in this town. She told him the truth. "To squeeze as much gold as possible out of the countess of course. She hands titles, land and coin out like candy in an orphanage. Figured a barony might be a nice thing to have. And of course, I watch how the others there do the same. Watch and learn, as the saying goes."  
  
Dismas laugthed bitterly. "Same reason as everyone else, just a little more honest?"  
  
"Exactly. Now, if you want to know more, it will cost you. More brandy at first, and a story of your own."  
  
"Sure", he said after a few moments of hesitation. "But I got the bar and paid the drink. Your story first."  
  
"This tale in particular begins six months ago, far, far too the south..."

 

* * *

 

 _Border Fort Crabbil, Grand Duchy of Alkenstar_ , _six months and two weeks earlier_  
  
The weather was a mess, as it hand been for days. Rain was pouring from howling skies, far more than the desert all around was used to. Far more than the ground could quickly soak. So the little creek along the western wall, usually a mere trickle in its dried up bed, was now a rushing stream, and the sand had turned into a grey sludge.   
  
Undeterred by the storm outside safe for a hint of compassion for the poor guys on guard duty, Valindra Crownswill continued her check of the reloading mechanism for the Groundshaker mounted atop the keep. The mechanism was a marvel of engineering, allowing a single person to use a weapon that would otherwise require a crew of more than a dozen for solid operation. As long as the mechanism worked as intended, that was.  
  
With that in mind, her gloved hands moved over the control levers, carefully testing them for proper function. A whirling sound filled the air as the massive weapon began to rotate on its mount, and changing the elevation followed. Another lever pull made the clockwork arms perform the loading procedure, but there was no firing test scheduled for today. With visibility this bad, it would be impossible to judge whether or not the weapon was accurate according to the standards.  
  
Everything was well in order, and yet Valindra could not shake a vague feeling of dread. She looked out of the next firing slit, into the thunderstorm, lost in thought. The feeling had come and gone over the last few weeks, and had become stronger since her arrival at this post. Though nothing had happened, the emotion was now nearly constant, as if someone was aiming a gun at her back.  
  
So distracted, she almost missed the blur of movement outside. Half a second later, everybody along the western wall saw the impact, where massive amounts of mud were splattered about as something large hit the ground at high speed.  
  
Moments later, the harsh, demanding voice of Shieldmarshal Jert bellowed orders through the loud night, and Valindra rushed into the courtyard. Jert, a tall, imposing woman with short brown hair and face marked by old burns and the scars of many fights, was assembling a squad. Torches were ignited and weapons made ready.  
  
"I want to know what that fucking things was or is! Crownswill, you're coming with us. If it is magic or some engi stuff, I want to know all there is to be known!"  
  
Valindra saluted, deciding this was not the right time to remind the commander of the limits of her abilities, or that no delicate mechanical device would survive such a crash. Instead she simply followed the ten soldiers and the Shieldmarshal through the gate, past the two cannon golems and out into the muddy mess.  
  
The object was a tangled mess of bent and broken metal, perhaps a hundred and fifty meters from the wall. Its original purpose and shape were impossible to guess, and the mere intake of this information was a worrying reminder to Valindra that she wasn't human. Humans couldn't see for such a distance in the middle of the night with the clouds hiding moon and stars.  
  
With every step forward, the vague fear grew stronger. So strong, that when she did she a figure moving towards the group, she almost fired instinctively. The three dwarves among the soldiers saw it too and took aim, shouting a warning, and their comrades heeded it, bringing their muskets up in the direction indicated.  
  
"Who is there? Identify yourself, or you will be fired upon!"  
  
The figure said something in response, but unlike Jert, was unable to make the words understandable. Still, the figure rose both hands as it hastily limped closer.  
  
A lone man, soaked in mud and his own blood, limping away from some crashed flying thing out here in a storm near the border to Mwangi. Not exactly a daily sign in an area infested with many bands of the Gorilla King's bloodthirsty savages.   
  
The stranger said something, a weak, pained voice speaking in a language Valindra had never heard before. She wished she had a translation spell ready, but service at the Mwangi border rarely called for anything not related to violence. The man spoke again, and the world vanished in light and noise.  
  
The wreckage behind the stranger had exploded, like a warehouse filled with gunpowder. Yet the explosion was not the main problem. In its bright light, figures became visible near it. Hunched figures holding weapons, and dozens of them.  
  
Before anyone could even yell, before the ringing in their ears had stopped, the first enemies took aim and fired. Firearms no doubt stolen in past battles along this very border roared, battered and ill maintained but still deadly. One was so for its owner as it misfired, but the others did their work. Two soldiers were gunned down in an instant, and Valindra felt hot liquid splash in her face as a bullet took half the face off the man next to her. Shouting in a frenzy, the charau-ka charged.  
  
Without much thought, Valindra hurled a fireball into the charging mass of bodies. By the standards of such spells, hers was mediocre at best, but even a weak fireball was more than the weaker apes could take. Jert was yelling orders again, and a return volley hammered into the advancing line, cutting down at least half a dozen. The screaming monsters didn't care. Mutated even beyond their usual standards and grown to more than twice their usuals size, they simply screeched and charged on.  
  
"Back to the fort!"  
  
As if anyone needed an invitation for that. Valindra was already running, turning back only once to unleash a second fireball. That was all her magical abilities could give, but it didn't matter. If the charge reached them out here, they would all be dead.  
  
Rushing towards the fort felt like it took hours, even though only minutes passed. Supporting fire came from the walls, a wild hail at first, strike down many of the pursuers, but far more came out of the darkness. A more disciplined volley cut into them, but no deep enough. As the soldiers on the wall frantically tried to reload, the ground shook and a horrid spectral figure appeared in the rain, easily fifty meters tall. Without a moments hesitation, the spectral giant brought one foot down on the gatehouse, stomping into into the floor. It than dissappated as quickly as it had appeared, the spell's brutal work done.  
  
Valindra didn't stop, not for the ruin and not for the firing line the garrison formed inside. If anything in the fort could stop the attack, it would be the Groundshaker. So she sped past the soldiers, into the keep and up the stairs as muskets roared behind her. Part of her admitted she merely wanted far away from the front and the dying, others still denied it as the lines in the courtyard clashed, the soldiers trying to use the shattered remnants of the gatehouse as a chokepoint. Both cannon golems lumbered into the fray, their main weapons ripping dozens of the raging apes apart with each shot. Even behind the stone walls of the keep, the noise was enormous.  
  
Activating the machinery, Valindra climbed into the gunner seat. At the gate, the charau-ka had made way for a different enemy: Massive orcs in heavy armor, marching in close ranks. She had no idea why orcs were even here or why they would work with the apes, but it didn't matter. She turned the massive cannon towards the horde and the gate. One pull of a lever fired a grapeshot shell.  
  
The Groundshaker was easily as loud as the initial explosion outside, but the pain in her ears was a cheap price. The recoil of the great cannon rocked the entire keep in its foundations, and the tightly packed orc ranks were hit dead on. At this essentially point blank range, the cannon simply obliterated all it caught, turning orc bodies to the same consistence as the mud under their boots. The ranks roared in response, the shouting of a hundred hulking figures booming through the castle.

"WAAAAAAHHHHRRRG!"  
  
Clicking and whirling, the reloading mechanism began its work.  
  
_One more shot_ , Valindra thought as she saw the carnage the first shell had caused. _No army can take losses like that twice in a row without breaking._  
  
There would be no test to this theory. With a bellow from the deepest pits of the Abyss, a massive creature crashed onto the roof of the keep and right through. Barely able to see the monster through the clouds of pulverized stone Valindra fled, diving down the spiral staircase as the great beast tore the cannon and the upper floor apart. She was no insane enough to face a creature like that, whatever it was. Its great blade slashed at her, too quick to  really see it, far too for being swung by a creature big enough to break the keep's walls. It barely reached her, a blind strike through the dust, and the edge only nicked her. Even so, the weapon drew a cut from her left temple all the way to her jaw, and as it went on, some blunt part grazed her shoulder and made her descent down the spiral staircase a lot faster and even less pleasant. No matter. The adrenaline made her ignore the pain. Stopping meant dying.  
  
Reaching the lower floors revealed a hellscape. The line around the shattered gate had been broken with no chance to reform and carnage was all around. Pockets of resistance were still fighting, most  with blades as there was no time to reload firearms. The charau-ka were now back, rushing through the gore to join the orcs in the onslaught. Two saw Valindra and charged, screeching from the top of their lungs, spears risen.

  
And icy calm gripped her heart. There was no escape, with the attackers having taken the only gate. Realizing that, spite took hold. If she would die here, in this miserable place in the miserable rain, some of those scumbags would join her.   
  
It was almost as she was watching rather than acting, eerily calm as her right hand brought up the revolver. The sidearm of the Gunworks Engineering Corps barked twice, and both her attackers fell dead. A hulking orc, already wounded, was next. She sidestepped the crude battle axe coming for her chest and emptied his skull with a round to the forehead. His comrade was made of stronger stuff, closing in even with all three remaining bullets piercing his scrapmetal armor and digging deep into his chest. Yet he was slowed, and Valindra drew her blade. Against a stumbling, wounded target, the saber did its work well and sliced his throat wide open in a crimson arc.  
  
A bullet tore through her coat and its ape owner pounced with a frustrated scream, swinging the empty gun like a club. A step and a two handed swipe parted his head from his shoulders, and Valindra lost herself in the madness of the melee. Her conscious mind caught only glimpses: Shieldmarshal Jert falling with a spear in her chest, surrounded by corpses of previous attackers, the beast from the keep, some great winged monster, collapsing the southern tower, the lone survivor near the western one throwing a torch into the magazine as he was overrun. Then, there was just more madness. A vision, for a moment, of fire and death in an impossibly large city, of giant constructs battling in ruined streets.   
  
She blinked the image away and saw she was no longer alone. The stranger stood next to her, bloody blade in hand, stabbing the next charau-ka through the neck before it could stab her.  
  
It wasn't enough. A bigger one landed in front of them, having jumped a solid nine meters from the wall it hac climbed. Some sort of leader, taller than his followers and covered in charms and trinkets, a glowing spear in his hands. Chittering, the leader took his first stab, lightning fast and far stronger than such a wiry creature had any right to be. The stranger parried only the first. A second blow knocked the sword from his grip, a third drove the spear into his chest. The ape grinned and twisted the weapon.  
  
Valindra charged and brought her sword down on his arm. Lost in sadism, the Chaura-Ka was too slow to react and the blade chopped the limb clean off. Screeching in pain, he turned and lashed out with his remaining claw. Valindra threw herself into a dodge, but could not escape fully. One of the talons sliced across her belly, through leather and chainmail. The cuts were not too deep, but the pain was immense and burning, and the blood sizzled on the talons.   
  
As the swipe send Valindra to the floor, the stranger meekly rose a hand. A ray of blue light sprung from it, and the left side of the demonic ape was vaporized in a flash. Still screaming for one moment, the leader fell.  
  
Valindra struggled to rise again, still almost in a sort of trance. Dozens of charau-ka and orks were closing in, and she stood there, shivering in pain, barely holding her blade. One would have to come at her first, and that one at least would also die. She smiled at that thought, a wicked, hateful grin. That was, until one ape rose a reloaded musket and shot her right in the chest.

 

* * *

 

"Shot to the chest? You seem rather fine for such circumstances."

Valindra gave a dry smile at that. "Fair enough. I had some help..."

 

* * *

 

Surprisingly, there was no immediate pain. In fact, she felt next to nothing as she fell. Her eyes closed as she hit the ground.

_No. Not so easily._

She forced her eyes open again. Her vision was blurry, barely able to see anything more than a handful of meters away. The wounded stranger threw her a faint smile, and she was certain she had met him before, even though was certain to have seen him for the first time those few minutes ago. On the other hand, the way he was covered in mud and now blood, his true identity was unrecognizable anyway, so it was possible. She wondered vaguely why she was still breathing. Neither orcs nor ape were known to stop once someone was bleeding out, they usually went for certainty and trophies rather swiftly.

The answer was that those who would finish her and the stranger off were all dead. Valindra had not heard it in her state of shock, and just now she saw they were cut into bloody shreds. Other figures had taken their place, stepping over the torn remains and one knelt down next to Valindra, one hand extented towards her, the other towards the stranger. She caught a glimpse of dark plate armor, and a voice reached her ears, soft and almost whispering.

"You two look like you need a helping hand."

 

* * *

 

 "A good tale, Lady Crownswill. Whether or not to believe is the question remaining."

"That is your choice to make. However, its your turn for a story now. I am sure you have a good one."

Dismas winced. "Not exactly a pleasant tale either, but if you wish, I will speak of the horrors I saw..."


	3. First Contacts

The Heart of Darkness. A title as overblown and melodramatic as it was fitting. Back in the hamlet, with the comforts of the tavern all around, it had sounded downright ridiculous. Now, facing this abomination, there was nothing to laugh at.  
  
Another tentacle whipped out of the darkness, its bony tip shaped like the blade on a scythe, eager to mow down the living. Dismas dropped to one knew and brought his blade up, letting the appendage bring the force to sever it. The stinking pus this beast possessed for blood splattered all around. Much of the floor was already covered in this disgusting, slimy mess.  
  
The others pressed their advantage, giving no quarter and knowing not to expect any. Their employer had gone mad, demanding that only four face this most terrible of horrors under the cursed estate. He had always sent in small groups, giving various seemingly sound reasons, but his ruse had been discovered, and the bearers of the torch fell no longer for his lies. A full dozen of them attacked this last miserable cave, expecting the worst horror. Still, nothing could prepare them for what they saw.   
  
The heart looked in many way just like that, a massive pulsating mass of pink flesh. It being the source of all the corruption around, the cancerous growths covering its surface were no surprise. And yet still, the sight of the veins protruding from the heart rising up like awakening snakes to lash out and shred all intruders was a sight to turn the strongest stomach. The hesitation had meant death for a jester, the leper and the old foreign scholar, all pulped in seconds by the heart's iron sinewed tentacles. And yet the tide had turned just as quickly, the veterans of the cleansings of all the surrounding areas striking as one. In front was the source of all this grief, of many comrades dead or confined to the asylum to claw at their own eyes. Blades moved to match the living whips in speed, to carve open tumours and chop the vile limbs off.  
  
Two of his comrades were close and still alive, while a woman in the armor of a warrior nun collapsed, her body dissolving under horrid acid. Roland, a bounty hunter by trade, swung his axe without any of the skill he usually had, more like a butcher would a cleaver, up and down and up and down. The sharpened blade would not be dissuaded, carving deep wounds into their foe's bloated body. "Widen the wound", he gasped towards the Camille, the grave robber at his side, before turning to Dismas. "Your gun might just finish this."  
  
Heeding his words, Camille sank her pick into one of the gashes the axe had made. She pried it open, using all strength to use the pick like a crowbar. Dismas understood, and sprinted towards them, jumping over one tentacle and barely sidestepping another one. This was indeed a chance to end it. Supressing fear, dread and nausea, Dismas reached them and shoved the muzzle of his pistol right into the wound Camille held open. He closed his eyes. _We have found our redemption._  
  
Hammer falls on loaded chamber,  
charge ignites in blazing light,  
and the world fades to black.  
  
Victory. Often enough, it was a hollow and ridiculous notion. Roland, Camille and Dismas were the only ones left to tell the tale, their comrades fallen victim to the heart's violent death throes, its insidious poison or the bleeding from the grievous wounds it had torn into their flesh. And yet, despite all this, the survivors felt strangely at piece, as if an enormous weight had been lifted, one that had barely been aware to have carried for so long. They were the ones the gods had smiled upon. And so there was both pride and peace in their hearts as they limbed out of the cavern, and Roland tossed a grenade into the oil they had spilled all over the grotesqueske cadaver. Nothing but ash and bad memories would remain of that monster, and both would fade in time.

* * *

"I see you had your share of misery. Why get back into it then? Why spy on people in this corrupt mess of a city?"  
  
Dismas took his time to consider the answer. "Because I am good at it, and I don't feel bad. Not anymore at least. In that cave, I paid my debt to this world a dozen times over. No matter how wrong I live on this world, no matter what I do now, my slate will not only be clean, it will be well enough on the good side to keep me out of hell. You surely know how hard old habits die, and this is something to enjoy. The thrill of the hunt, the promise of payment."  
  
He saw Dr Crownswill nod at that, and rose up. "Still, I have to get going. Farewell, doctor."  
  
As he turned around, he saw the hint of a smile on her lips. He had to place somebody to watch this one. Whether or not her story was true, his instincts told him that the good doctor was not someone to underestimate. And yet she was far from the only potential troublemaker around.  
  
The next morning was supposed to be a lot more relaxed. He was just having breakfast with Camille and Roland, the magistrate's money paying for a full meal at the best inn of Ardis, when the door to the common room opened and the day went down the drain.  
  
All three reached for their weapons with reflexes borne by well justified paranoia. There were quite a few people one might expect to find in a public tavern, even an expensive one. Knight Commander Lord Solomon Prire was not one of those, and one look into the paladin's contempt filled eyes was sufficient to make this not a coincidence. Even for those who had faced the Heart of Darkness, fighting a man like him was not a prospect to look forward to. Yet if the knight wanted a scrap, he would get one. Camille reached into the pockets containing her poison darts, the other hand lightly resting on her pick, while Roland gripped his axe with his left, his right shifting to prime a flashbang. As for Dismas himself, he coild not know if his pistol would pierce the paladin's blessed plate, but he would find out if need be.

"Don't bother. I am here to meet your boss, not to take out his henchmen." Prire sounded as if he was chewing through leather with each word. "Take me to whomever pays you scum, and no one gets hurt."

The trio traded a few glances among each other.

"And why would such a righteous man like want to meet anyone hiring scum of our sort? Wondering if the other side might be more to your liking?"

Expression unchanging, the paladin cast a gaze weighted by destiny over his three opponents. Dismas barely suppressed his laughter, and Camille chuckled, while Roland merely scoffed. "Grave changes are approaching. They will affect all of us, no matter our virtue. And the one you answer is likely someone of greater influence. Someone who might make a good choice regarding his side in whatever is to come. It doesn't matter how much I despise you, or how much contempt you feel for your betters. Great danger draws nearer, and an alliance of convenience might be our best hope."

"Did you practice that? A little short for a proper speech, don't you think?"

"Perhaps you should shut up about matters above your paygrade? My words are meant for your boss, after all."

Dismas exchanged another glance with his old comrades. Giving up Reynell's identity was bad, yet saying no to the heavily armed fanatic with divine backing would be downright unhealthy. So he muttered something vaguely resembling an answer and lead the way. At least they would have the guards at the magistrate's residence would back  them up if things went south.

* * *

To follow three crooks through the streets of Ardis to parlay with some crime boss or corrupt official. Every step felt like an insult to the principles Solomon Prire had sworn to uphold. People like that belonged in dungeons or the gallows, so that they would not threaten good people with their ruthless, unprincipled greed. His desire to smite the scum was contained only by the weight of his concern. The very fabric of reality on Golarion had weakened so strongly in the last year. Portals had opened up in Mwangi and close to the World Wound, and all manners of horrific creatures had sprung forth. So far, no one had walked through these gateways from Golarion and returned, and just a few days ago, to more great breaches in reality had sent shockwaves around the world. Different ones, according to the clerics, one time events rather than a fixed gateway. One had occured in the far north, at the Crown of the World, far outside the reach of almost everyone.  
  
The other had hit the forests north of Ardis, a region that had hosted accursed beings for far to long. Werewolves and the Whispering Way, and other monsters. This breach might just be the conclusion of some dastardly scheme, and the righteous of this world had sat idle too long already. And yet without solid proof, Lastwall could not step in. For the good of all Golarion, proof had to be found, and for such a task, Solomon Prire would sully himself.  
  
Their destination became clear soon enough. Prire had suspected Reynell as one of the corrupt, and to see he had been right left a bitter taste in his mouth. Reynell already had influence and wealth, more of both than most good people could ever call upon. That a man so blessed chose to grab yet more stirred up the paladin's rage and contempt with every further step along the road, with every inch of movement past dilapidated buildings and ruins of former greatness. How would Ardis look if men of virtue had been in control? If poverty, complacence and crime had been faced with wise actions and firm hands instead iron fists hammering down and snatching scraps in the name of petty greed and short sighed egomania? One day, he vowed to himself, he would see that happen, and if it took his all.  
  
Reynell lived in a lavish, three-story town villa. Lead by the criminal group, the guards did not bother to try and stop him, though he did sense hands gripping weapons tighter. He paid them no more mind than the furniture. He had the blessings of Ragathiel, his own strength and the panoply of a true paladin. These thugs, well trained and armed as they might be, would not be able to challenge him in battle, and they knew it, and they knew that he knew. So they kept posturing and praying they would be called to make deeds follow their blustering.  
  
True to so many a story, Aldous Reynell looked every bit like the corrupt waste of human potential he was. A small, wiry man in expensive finery, sitting in his throne-like chair behind a massive desk covered in papers and pouches of doubtlessly ill-gotten coin. His three lead henchmen stayed outside the office, as did four of his guards, all keeping their hands on their weapons. Reynell himself kept one hand under the table, likely on the grip of a hand crossbow or pistol, and showed a smile as false as a wooden coin painted gold.  
  
"Ah, Lord Commander Prire. What a pleasure to have you here", he said, his tone full of so clearly false niceness that it would make the most tired and surly thug whore sound positively friendly.  
  
He returned the grin in the same manner, swallowing the bile rising in his throat. "You don't want me here, and I don't want to be here either, so I'll make this quick. Ardeal is in danger, far greater danger than your little...", he looked at the pouches. "What is it? Embezzlement? Unlawful extra taxes? Racketeering? Or just straight up theft? No matter. Ardeal and probably far more is liable to meet disaster soon."  
  
Reynell tensed up, and the fake smile was gone in an instant. He put his fingertips together in a pyramid, and when he rose his voice again, it was clear and all business.  
  
"What exact danger are you referring to?"  
  
When Prire rose an eyebrow at that, the magistrate sighed. "I trust that a paladin knows about such things, and you appear not be lying. And seeing this county razed to the ground would cause me quite the discomfort. It must be serious if you come to me with it, so speak damnit!"  
  
Prire nodded. _Always trust on thieves to protect what they stole, and to fight for their turfs like rabid dogs for a slice of meat._ "The specialists of my order have noticed another blow to Golarion's ley lines, and simultaneously a surge in necromantic energies. Both originated from the southeastern Shudderwood, and I am here to look into the matter. The Worldwound takes up much of my order's forces, and without proof, Lastwall cannot provide support. If there is anything to this, Ardeal will need all the help it can get. So we need that proof of danger, or better yet, proof of the absence of said danger."

* * *

The combination of extremely heavy steps followed by a gentle, polite knock on her door was one Valindra had swiftly learned to recognize. Harrold. Which meant there was more work to be done, and soon.  
  
"Come in", she muttered as she forced herself out of bed, blinking a few times.  
  
Harrold did, his shadow made even larger by the light from the corridor behind him. Of all the strange people Valindra had met in the last few months, Harrold was probably the one with the greatest contradictions. His appearance was nothing short of terrifying, nearly three meters tall with shoulders more suited for a bear than a man, and always wearing full spiked plate armor, with a helmet crowned by blade-like horns, his face forever hidden by the visor save for slightly glowing red eyes. And in the few times she had seen him fight, it had been evident that this was not for show. Yet outside of the battlefield, he was never anything but polite and kind, more friendly grandfather than brutal warrior. Since he had been assigned as her aide, he had always had her back.  
  
"Apologies for waking you this early, doctor. Our master does have another task of great importance for both of us", he said in this thin, raspy voice also so unfitting for his looks.  
  
Sighing, Valindra reached for the pile of her clothes. "I hope the task doesn't require me to look presentable." Another thing about Harrold was that her state of undress never seemed to effect him at all, neither positive or negative.  
  
The tilt of his head was a sufficient answer. He spoke the words nonetheless. "It does, I fear. Yet I have taken the liberty of ordering a fresh bathtub for you. And a warm breakfast."  
  
"Thanks." She sighed. "What would I do without you?"  
  
His head tilted a little further. "Awake enough for rhetorical questions I see. No need to hurry though, you have more than two hours."  
  
Sinking into the hot water, Valindra did take the time to wonder where her path would lead to. She served a master she barely knew in a land far away from home, and her new comrades included an elf haughty and arrogant even for the knife ears, Harrold and whatever old Grim was. Definitely not human. It was not that they were the worst people she had been forced to work with, after all, they were competent and as of yet loyal, and Harrold could perhaps be called a friend. And yet there was so much off about this whole affair. Her gut twisted as she thought what might occur in the future. This was Ustalav, and stories about strange people in Ustalav usually involved misery and bloodshed, both in large quantities. Stories would often be false, but she had heard the stories the locals told about her home too, and they were not that far from the truth. Exaggerated and embellished for sure, but certainly in the right direction. The thought send shivers down her spine.

And there was more on her mind. During her time in court ther day before, she had met Silas again. He had come a long way from their first meeting in Fort Crabbil half a year ago. Back then, he had left one day after being healed, and had not given up much about himself. All the time, she had felt this weird familiarity with a man she never met before. Just before he left, he had sought her out.

"I have to leave, and it might take a long time for me to return. But I will return for you or die trying, my beautiful reaper."

She had almost burst out laughing, but the burning intensity in his gaze had given her pause, and then he was gone. She still knew not what to make of the apparent devotion of a man she didn't know. And yesterday, he had just been there, in the court of Ardis, looking to be a successful foreign merchant. How had he gotten the money, or found the way here? There had been no chance to speak to him privately, and she did consider going out to find him.

Finish the bath, she set about preparing her equipment. Saber, dagger and revolver at her belt, chainshirt hidden under the coat, a dagger pistol hidden in the right boot. The Glove of Storing was empty, just in case something needed to be extracted with some stealth. Enchanted coat pockets were filled with a few healing potions, ammo, another dagger and some more utility potion vials.

Someone knocked at her door, and she half turned to open it. A strongbox was pushed into her arms, and while she managed to hold it, she made a hasty step back.

"I can't stay, your master will find out. But I had to give you what belongs to you." Silas was panting, looking around frantically. Valindra put down the box and grabbed his wrist.

"Calm down, no one will know for at least another hour. Now tell me what the hell this is about!"

"You are, or rather were, the woman I loved. It took me a long time to find you, and I don't think your master approves of my presence here."

She gave him a blank look. "You are aware of how insane that sounds?"

"Of course I do." He laughed bitterly and sighed. "It is, in a way, insane. Doesn't matter to me though"

"Do you have anything but your word to back this up. I am quite certain I have never met you before Crabbil."

He reached for his throat, pulling up a necklace with a silver locket and handing it to her. Flicking it open revealed a picture lending quite a bit of credence to his story, for the couple portraited obviously consisted of Silas and her, standing hand in hand, forearms wrapped by a marriage band. Though the picture of the woman was evidently one of herself, she looked older than she actually was, though not by much. In contrast, Silas did look somewhat younger and less haggard. Very slowly, Valindra handed the locket back. His hands closed her fingers around it.

"Keep it. I have to skip town immediately. Still, I vowed to return to you, and I renew that pledge. Further, once I return again, I will not be so easily scared off."

Valindra watched in silence as he left, unsure what to do. She glanced at the strongbox nervously, before almost sheepishly trying to open it. Its contents where each wrapped in cloth, one long bundle, two soft packages and two metal boxes, one small and one quite sizeable.

Unwrapping the lengthy bundle first revealed an exquisitly made pallasch, similar to the weapon she carried, yet of far greater craftsmanship, the blade made from some mithral-adamantine-alloy. It lacked any sort of magical aura. Unable to keep a smile from her face, she drew the blade and took up a fighting stance. The grip fit her hand perfectly, and the weapon was sized and balanced to fit her as the wielder, evidently a custom job. She would keep this one for sure, and she would have it enchanted too. The softer packages contained two sets of fine clothing, a black and white uniform, looking worthy of a general, the other an elegant black dress. Not of immediate use, but nice to have. The smaller box contained a mithral ring with inlaid with small rubies, another nice to have trinket, but the larger box got her attention. Valindra was barely able to identify what its content was, but when she did, she slipped it into the Glove of Storing, for this was something to keep on hand.

 She did wonder what would happen the next time Silas showed up. He might be insane, but so far, she could not complain much.

* * *

At their unbeating hearts, the Forsaken were survivors. Not physically, for they all had, in one way or another, failed at that. They were survivors in their minds, able to witness horror after horror without breaking. To make it through the campaigns of Arthas, the fall of one's home, the slavery of the Scourge and all the wars that followed with an unbroken mind took great resilience and greater determination.  
  
Even with all the self hatred, powerless wrath and trauma, this was something Sylvanas Windrunner could be proud of. Under her leadership, the Forsaken had achieved so much in little time, and she would be damned if it was all for naught. No matter what this newest crisis was, she would not break, and neither would her people.  
  
It had been quite catastrophic. What exactly had happened was still unclear, but Undercity was isolated, all access points buried under thousands of tonnes of rubble. Most of the deeper dungeons had collapsed, and of those who had been there, no trace could be found. That included Varimathras, but whether or not and if yes, how the Dreadlord had been involved, was impossible to tell. Her people were now digging themselves out of the debris, back towards the surface. Thousands had died as whole boroughs simply caved in, yet the will of the Forsaken was unbroken still.  
  
"My Lady, Fourth Detachment reports they are nearing the surface. Breakthrough is expected within the hour."  
  
Sylvanas nodded and made towards the location in question, her guards silently following.   
  
Dozens of workers were busy in the tunnel, pickaxes and the like rising and falling in a rhythmic clash of stone and metal. Yet all made way for the queen of this city. At the very end of, a small ray of moonlight was shining through a hole in the pile of rubble blocking the path. Without hesitation, Sylvanas made her way up there, treating on the loose debris as safely as on a flight of stairs. Once at the top, she had only to shift a few chunks to make enough room for her to get out.  
  
"Do not rest until this path is. No one leaves or enters until I return." She could feel how her guards wanted to protest, but they knew better than to question the Banshee Queen. So they stayed back as she slipped through the crack and into the night above.  
  
One look up at the sky was enough to confirm her greatest worry. The star patterns were entirely different, the full moon smaller than it could ever been on Azeroth. This was a different world, with all that fact entailed.  
  
The ruins of Lordaeron looked like they had been bombarded for weeks. More than half of the buildings above Undercity had collapsed, and easily a third of the wall was just gone. Outside the perimeter, a dark forest stretched all the way to the horizon.  
  
And what a forest it was. As soon as she stepped in the shadow of the trees, Sylvanas felt right at home. Not only because she was a ranger, but also because of the accepting way it reacted to her presence. There was no rush of panicked creatures fleeing from the undead. Instead, all appeared almost impossibly peaceful. Unwilling to let such a chance escape, Sylvanas moved on, deeper into the woods, stepping quiet as a ghost. Of course, her guard was not lowered. Who knew what monsters might lurk behind the cover of the undergrowth?  
  
Using the skills of her past life was at once incredibly painful and wonderfully nostalgic. She looked for the various tracks and found more than a few, including those very similar to a dire wolf and something closely resembling a bear. Memories overwhelmed her, visions of happy times in Quel'talas, before the Scourge had come, and without realizing it at first, she began to hum a song, a quiet, mourning one about the lost hope. Or was hope truly lost? This was another world, and for a fraction of a second, a part Sylvanas wondered if that could mean a fresh start.  
  
She was still huming quietly and considering following one of these trails when she noticed she was no longer alone. Someone was nearby, watching her, and her instincts told her it was no mere creature of the woods. She kept acting as if she had not sensed anything, only internally preparing to act in any way necessary. Her ears twitched slightly as she heard movement. Two legs, about twenty meters behind her and to the left. She moved slowly forward, making sure to lose the sound. If this was someone trying to sneak up on her, they would need a lot more practise. She stopped at the edge of a small glade, finishing the melody and dropping into a crouch, as if inspecting a trail, while taking the bow of her back.  
  
"Worry not, fair lady, I mean you no harm." A male voice, barely more than a whisper when it reached her ears. She spun around, an arrow knocked, ready to shoot. Yet something stayed her hand. Maybe curiosity, maybe the peaceful nature of this place, the nostalgia, maybe the faint hope of a new start. So she did not shoot, and instead took a closer look at the speaker.  
  
He was tall and pale, clad in black and red, with sharp, hawkish features and black hair with a few grey streaks. All in all, remarkably handsome for a human. His elvish wasn't bad either, though his pronounciation made him sound harsher than the words likely intended. The man held his hands out to the sides, away from the sword and dagger at his belt.  
  
"My apologies for sneaking around, but I could not disturb that song. It was almost as beautiful as you are."  
  
Sylvanas' eyes narrowed. Flattery of this kind was something she was no longer used to, and given her nature, it was rather unlikely. Still, it appeared to be genuine, weird as that might be, and so it felt strangely comforting.  
  
"What do you want?", she growled through gritted teeth, keeping the arrow aimed at his heart.  
  
"To sate my curiosity. These are my lands, and I thought I was well aware of the fair ladies around. I was mistaken, it seems." He smiled faintly. "And there was the matter with, how my advisor for arcane matters put it, an involuntary planetary or planar translocation of hereto unseen magnitude."  
  
"Cut the flattery. You found me, so what now?"  
  
"Well, I did also find the ruins of city that was not there before. Given your nature, it is either a wonderously accepting place, or a city of the dead. Having seen both, my guess would be the latter. A development I need to consider."  
  
Sylvanas' eyes narrowed. "And how would such an event factor into your plans, if you are guessing correctly?"  
  
"I would work towards an accord, of course. One can rarely have too many allies, and newcomers to this world could use a local who knows the area, the important people and all that."  
  
Her eyes narrowed even further. "Am I to believe that your first instinct upon seeing an undead monster is to make allies? Your words appear both foolish and hardly believable."  
  
"Perhaps", he admitted, still smiling. "I would give you my word that I speak true, but I doubt doing so would mean anything to you. Maybe we can discuss such matters in a more formal locale?"  
  
The Banshee Queen considered her options. Killing the fool was tempting, but she could not honestly deny the truth in his words. Her people would need allies in an unknown world.   
  
"What locale do you have in mind?", she hissed, teeth still gritted.  
  
"There is an abandoned manor about a dozen miles to the north, still in decent repair. We can meet there if you want, tomorrow if you wish to do so soon."  
  
Sylvanas laugthed bitterly. "Let me guess, the next thing you will tell me is to come alone."  
  
Hearing this, his expression turned into one of mock distaste. "Please, I would never ask a fair lady to travel without security. Bring aides and soldiers as you desire, though more than fifty might cause the place to be a little crowded."  
  
Slowly, Sylvanas nodded in acknowledgement. "I accept your terms for meeting. But be warned, I do not take kindly to traitors and fools."  
  
"And those who do are usually the latter." His smile widened. "Till then, fair lady." 

With that, he gave an elaborate bow and turned to leave. Sylvanas watched as he vanished in the undergrowth, waiting until she could no longer hear his steps before heading back to the Undercity. A lot to think about for one day.  
  
"What would you wish me do, my Queen?" Nathanos Blightcaller kept his voice calm, though his thoughts were anything but. The things Sylvanas just told him raced through his head in endless, lightning fast circles.  
  
"The chance is too good to let it pass. Speed will be of the essence in adapting to this change, and if we can get it done quickly, suffering one obnoxious fool is a cheap price to pay."  
  
Nothing to disagree with there. Nathanos' concern was not with the idea itself. "Are you sure you have to go personally? Send me or someone else in your stead. Anyone but you is ultimately expendable."  
  
"No Nathanos. If I don't show, it will look like betrayal. We cannot risk that without knowing how powerful the "ruler of this lands" actually is."  
  
"Then let me lead a vanguard to make sure it is safe."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"How many soldiers should we bring with us?"  
  
The Queen thought about that for a moment. "Enough to show strength, too few to look scared. Make the vanguard a dozen, and I will bring as many once I follow suit."  
  
Recognizing a final decision when hearing it, Nathanos bowed and left.

* * *

   
Simple stone walls. One tower, its uppermost floor long gone. Two smaller buildings, stables and servant quarters most likely, and one greater one in the middle, largely intact. The meeting place did not look like much, and that was probably the point.   
  
"About a dozen horses in the stable. No perimeter guards and no magic save for an anti scrying ward", one of the rangers reported. Nathanos had them search the entire area, one mile in every direction, and yet they had found nothing but the expected wildlife. With no further excuse, Nathanos rode towards the compound, his rangers following him. The doors were thrown open, and if the two warriors doing so felt any surprise or discomfort upon seeing obvious undead, they hid it well. Neither the rangers nor their skeletal steeds caused any visible reaction. Feigning a confidence he did not really feel, Nathanos stepped into the hall of the manor.  
  
It was quite the sizeable room, a good thirty meters from one end to the other, with a high, vaulted ceiling. A long table had been set, and three figures were waiting at the opposite end, with more lining the walls to either side. The ones at the walls were clearly the escort, half a dozen knights from the looks, all in segmented full plate and carrying heavy two handed weapons. He disliked the situation instantly: To close for any skirmishing, but with enough space for these men to use their poleaxes and greatswords. Four more men stayed on the sides, these ones clad in lighter armor and leather coats, firearms in hand. As of now, the odds were annoyingly balanced.  
  
The three on the table's end were more likely to be individual problems. One was a giant, three meters tall if the horns on the helmet were included. Like several of the soldiers, he carried a poleaxe, and this one looked like it would cleave anything vaguely human sized in two without much effort.  
  
To the left of the table stood a scarred older man in simple grey armor, one hand resting on the haft of double bladed greataxe. Despite his smaller stature and his obvious age, he somehow managed to appear just as frightening as the giant, only by generously applying a glare most interrogators would have gladly sold their soul for.  
  
The woman between those two was a lot less concerning in terms of obvious potential for violence, and yet her position implied she was the one in charge. This one was clad in a finer version of what the firearm wielding soldiers wore, clearly an officer from their ranks. Her face was quite pretty, with fair skin and dark hair, though her posture and the tight ponytail gave her a very strict appearance. She directed a polite nod towards Nathanos as he entered.  
  
"Welcome. I am Doctor Valindra Crownswill, and I take it you are the vanguard for your lady?"  
  
He nodded. "Nathanos Blightcaller is my name. Is your master here?"  
  
Crownswill shook her head. "It would appear our masters share the common sense to be cautious. My master will be here in a few minutes. Take a seat if you wish."  
  
Nathanos did, and the room fell silent again. Most people would have thought it to be awkward, yet the undead were well used to speaking only when words were necessary.

Fifteen minutes later, the real subject of this meeting finally arrived. Accompanied by four additional knights, the man Sylvanas had met in the woods marched into the hall, gaze swiftly taking notion of all those present. He made Nathanos out as the leader and walked up to him, ignoring the venomous glares the rangers threw.  
  
The man nodded to Nathanos. "Will your lady join us shortly? I did hope she would be here before my arrival."  
  
"She will be here soon." Nathanos said no more. He threw a glance at one of his rangers, and said ranger let fly a little summoned shadow. Another five minutes passed until the Banshee Queen arrived with the rest of her guard force.  
  
  
Sylvanas too noted the situation. Now, her rangers had numbers on their side at least if things got out of hand. Yet even with all their skill, the heavy armor on the other side might turn the potential battle into something more balanced than Sylvanas liked. Given that none of the other party seemed at all concerned with facing the undead, they likely knew their craft well enough to be properly dangerous. No matter. He stepped forward with all the confidence a queen required, pointedly ignoring all except for the man who had called the meeting.  
  
"I came here as you suggested. I wish to speak to you alone for now." She didn't not bother with polite mask, her tone making quite evident that this was not a request.  
  
"Of course." The man bowed and gestured towards a door on the other side of the hall. "If you would follow me..."  
  
She did, wrestling down the urge to plunge a dagger into his throat, just to stop this charade of fake niceness. The room behind that door had once been a salon, and though the age of this building was clearly visible and dust gathered in the corners, the seats were cleaned and comfortable. Sylvanas let herself sink into one while the man pointed at a wine cabinet. "If you want anything, help yourself."  
  
"What I want is answers. You will give them, and you will give them honestly." She made no mention of the consequences of not doing so, trusting that her icy tone would convey that well enough.  
  
"Ask your questions then." If he was in any way frightened by her, he was good at keeping it hidden, and Sylvanas wondered if he had the might to back his lack of concern.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"My name is Maldred Richter, and I am the ruler of this part of the world. Allow me to return this particular question."  
  
Her eyes flared at the last part, but she did nod. "I am Sylvanas Windrunner, Queen of the Forsaken." She continued before he could follow up on that. "Where are we?"  
  
"Near the southeastern edge of the Shudderwood, in Ustalav, on the world of Golarion."  
  
None of those places meant anything to her. She was going to ask for his reasons to propose cooperation, but changed her mind. So far, he appeared to be honest, and Sylvanas wanted to test that.  
  
"In your... estimation, what would happen if I killed you right now, and how would it affect my fortunes?"  
  
The man, Maldred, flashed her a roguish grin at the question. "Well, my fair lady, that does depend. Firstly, our followers outside would slaughter each other. Maybe you would lose that fight and die, or be cut down before your soldiers win. In both cases you would be dead, and I doubt you want that. If you win, or escape for that matter as it is of little consequence, you just lost the only influential ally you could have made within a few hundred miles. Before long, likely before a few weeks pass, your holdings will be under siege by the armies of Ustalav, and others will soon follow. You won nothing but a massive target on your back."  
  
Her eyes narrowed. "How so?"  
  
"The undead are not exactly well liked in Ustalav, and there other kingdoms who hate them just as much or even more so. And I am not so foolish as to come here without precautions. If I die here, my agents will spread word of an army of the living dead rampaging through these lands in half a dozen royal courts, and they will be believed, no matter what you do. You might be able to kill me, but in doing so you would sign the warrant for your own end and that of your people."  
  
"Then why ally with me at all if you have such power already?  
  
"Because I would prefer not to involve those other realms. Given the choice, I would go for some conquest of my own, and conquest requires allies. I guessed that you have able subjects, and your entourage proves me right. One cannot have enough allies in war after all. Besides, once you have tasted some power, why stop there?"  
  
"What is in it for me, and what would you expect in return?"  
  
"The truly burning questions, are they not? I would tell you all you need to know about these lands. Who rules them, were and how strong their armies are, where to find gold, iron or the like. Who will look the other way for the sake of business, and who needs to be removed. My aid in the wars to come. Which brings us to your second question. I ask that in exchange for my help, you facilitate the removal of certain individuals, and fight at my side once war breaks loose. Trading between our people would probably serve us both."  
  
"You make this sound good, I admit that. But such is the mark of both honest merchants and snake oil sellers. Why the specific focus on my people? What would my assassins and warriors have that you need so much that you would ally with us rather than with all those you claim hate the undead?"  
  
"Plausible deniability, no involvement with any neighboring realms, and your people are probably less squeamish than most of the living. A pragmatic choice." The smile appeared again. "Besides, you are the most beautiful among the rulers I could approach for this."  
  
Sylvanas scoffed, and her eyes narrowed at the attempted flattery. And yet somewhere deep down, some mostly forgotten part of her was, for a brief moment, touched by it.  
  
"You make every effort to present yourself as an untrustworthy schemer, Lord Richter."  
  
"What can I say? I believe in honesty towards friendly company in general and fair ladies in particular."  
  
She clenched her teeth in annoyance. "I need to think about what you have told", she said and left, back into the main hall. Seeing that their leaders had not killed each other just yet, their followers relaxed just a bit.

* * *

  
"Nervous, doctor?", Harrold asked.  
  
"Yes", Valindra admitted. "I know why Lord Richter acts the way he does, and I know how important it is to show confidence, but this undead elf might have the classic pride and arrogance of her people. One rash comment could see us all dead."  
  
"I doubt that, and so should you." He placed a hand on her shoulder, the touch firm, yet reassuring. "This queen is no fool, and her eyes seem to work. If we fight here, we have the advantage. Plate and greatsword against leather, some chainmail and light blades is hardly an even fight."  
  
The mention was somewhat calming, but not so much. True, Lord Richter's knights were deadly, elite fighters, and the gun wielding mercenaries would have matched many troopers from Alkenstar. Still, Valindra knew one arrow might be all that was required to put her down. She had less confidence in her own martial prowess, knew her magic was of less use on people as nimble as rangers usually were. Not to mention the unknown quality of the opposition. Elven rangers were well known for great skill, and these were evidently not hindered by the unliving state. If course, this did not consider Lord Richter himself or old Grim, both people she had never seen actually fight. The undead queen was another unknown factor. Two many of those for her taste, even with Harrold at her side.

The meeting did go on for some further time, and in the end, Harrold was tasked to accompany Sylvanas WIndrunner as an ambassador, and one of the undead rangers was given a similar order. Being parted from Harrold did make Valindra somewhat uneasy, though he saw why he was chosen, and it would give her more

* * *

 

The ride back to Undercity was one of easing tension, with the meeting over without bloodshed. It appeared that whatever dangers might lurk in these woods, a group of more than twenty was more than they dared approach.  
  
"How does it come that you are undead?", Sylvanas asked Harrold in the center of the formation. She had found his brutish appearance to be misleading, he was seemingly of quite sound mind. And he answered her questions openly.  
  
"It was by choice, mylady", his raspy voiced hissed through the visor. "I swore to serve my master's family for as long as I was able, and through this state, not only can I uphold my oath longer, I am more able to do so as well."  
  
"And your master takes no issue with your state?"  
  
A coughing sound followed, and Sylvanas to a moment to identify it as a chuckle. "He was skeptical until he saw me fight. No complaints after that."  
  
"Such devotion. Where does it come from?"  
  
"After my wife had died, I had lost my purpose. Through my master, I gained a new one."  
  
"Lost your wife? My condolences. I take it you lost your purpose in mourning."  
  
"There was nothing to mourn." Seeing how the Banshee Queen rose an eyebrow, Harrold set to explain. "She died, axe in hand, surrounded by a score foes she had made into raven's fodder, aboard a broken enemy ship, its lumber and magazine lit by her hand, a greater funeral pyre than anything I could have done. She died a death like any warrior dreamed of, and she found her seat at the feasting table of heroes and legends. Such a fate is not to be mourned, it is to be held in honor like the other memories of her." His voice had grown stronger, even though his mind seemed to trail off in the past.  
  
"And what about your master now?"  
  
"I found him a man worthy of my service."  
  
"He seems... strange."  
  
Harrold gestured for her to elaborate, and Sylvanas considered her words for a moment, not wishing to anger her newfound ally just yet.  
  
"He stalks the woods alone, quite competently so, and he certainly knows how to sell his offers. Yet he kept on complimenting me like this was some foolish romantic tale for children, makes every effort to appear untrustworthy and he seems not care about what I am."  
  
"He certainly has many talents, and he is a proud man, sometimes reaching and sometimes crossing the line between rightful pride and arrogance." Another chuckle-cough. "Don't look so surprised, I swore to follow him as my lord, not to lick his boots in absentia. As for the words he chose regarding you, I do believe he honestly fancies you."  
  
Now Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. "What?" She pressed the word out, her tone icy enough to make the rangers nearby tense up.  
  
Harrold kept chuckling. "If my master has had any great skill at his romantic pursuits, they are either long gone or far from sight." His chuckle almost became a proper laughter this time. "So he sees you, likes what he sees, and tries to make you feel at ease. He thinks he can't honestly compliment you on your mental skills or martial prowess without having seen either tested, so he goes for what he can be sure about. And to his credit, he isn't wrong in the assesment."  
  
Somewhat flattered, Sylvanas leaned back in the saddle. The ambassador had a loose tongue, and maybe there might be more insides among the nonsense he spoke of.  
  
"Is that so?", she asked, feigning much of her interest.  
  
Harrold tilted his head. "I believe you are quite aware for your looks, milady. And, if I may..." He rose his hand, and when she nodded, touched the bared flesh of her upper arm with one finger.  
  
"Like I thought, you even have a body temperature. Less so than the living, but still there. I am by no means a scholar of the necromancer's craft, but I have seen enough of it to recognize a masterpiece when I see one. The work on your physical self, milady, is quite extraordinary. A walking piece of art."  
  
For a moment, Sylvanas wanted to throw it all away, to draw her dagger and plunge it into Harrold's throat. She kept her composure, reminding herself that he could hardly now why his last words enraged her so. Still, the flare in her eyes must have been unmistakable. He shifted away somewhat, and his next words were far more subdued.  
  
"My apologies, milady. Are you displeased with your status?"  
  
Now Sylvanas laughed, bitterly and entirely devoid of joy. "You really do wonder, don't you? I did not choose to become the abomination I am, it was never my wish. I was turned against my will, a slave to worse monster. Come to think of it, I can forget about my revenge now given I am in a different world."  
  
"Whoever turned you must have been an idiot."  
  
"That is what you make of it?"  
  
"Yes. To turn someone into an intelligent undead against their will and letting them keep their memories... It is begging for all of them to exact vengeance at the first opportunity. Idiocy almost beyond belief!"  
  
"Not idiocy." Her voice was low as memories returned, memories of the first Scourge invasion. "Hubris and cruelty, not foolishness. I would have prayed for Arthas to be a fool, and he was not." Her eyes blankly looking in the past, Sylvanas began the tale that had lead her to this point. The rangers spread out further, unwilling to be reminded, and wary of the danger the distraction might bring. Harrold stayed and listened.


	4. The Icecrown of the World

Pain. In the long years of his existence, the Lich King had gotten to know it quite well, both in dealing and receiving. Nothing of that compared even vaguely to what he felt now. It was as if every inch of his skin had been torn off and replaced with salt, while molten magma coursed through his veins. He could not stand, could not move, not do anything but his in agony, even screaming was beyond his current abilities.  
  
And yet somewhere beyond all that, beyond his ravaged physical self and the defeat that had caused this state, a hint of triumph remained. He had fought against the arcane might of a world and survived, even kept the citadel largely intact. Neither Ner'zhul nor Arthas had ever even heard of such a thing being possible.  
  
Without a sense of time, the Lich King could not tell how long it took before the pain began to subside, and he could not tell whether it was due to regeneration, the damage being only temporary, or because his nerves had simply given up. No matter now. The pain slowly faded, and the Lich King rose on unsteady feat, nearly every ounce of power drained from him. It was only after the first dozen shaky steps that he registered the sounds of battle, and a horrific realization dawned. Once before, the Lich King had been greatly weakened, and during that time, parts of the Scourge had regained their control over themselves. In some cases, like that bitch Sylvanas, he had been unable to regain control. This was similar, but so much worse. Rather than a gradual decline that still left him with considerable might, this was a total drain over a span of minutes. He limbed onwards, towards the Halls of Reflection. With Frostmourne, there might be a way of salvaging the situation.   
  
All over the citadel, the Scourge went from a well oiled machine to a crazed frenzy, as thousands of creatures broke free, entirely aware of what they had been forced to do while under the Lich King's sway. Some had already gone insane, some did so now, and some had chosen this fate. But most of the now freed creatures hated the Scourge with every fibre of their being, and seeing a chance to lash out, they went all in.  
  
Darkfallen soldiers stormed the quarters of the Cult of the Damned, and berserk fury against those loyal to the Scourge met fanatical devotion to it in an unprecedented orgy of carnage, neither side expecting or granting mercy. In one of the large cult halls, High Priestess Deathwhisper fought Blood Queen Lana'thel, and the magics they hurled at each other laid waste to subordinates and structure alike like point blank artillery fire. In the lower spire, the Vrykul and Val'kyr broke into civil war, again both sides fanatical to a degree rarely witnessed, neither giving way for more than two hours. Higher up, the fight was shorter, for the Frostbrood, among the most powerful creatures in citadel, broke free completely, and the undead dragons slaughtered all loyalists in sight on short notice. Meanwhile, the mines below the fortress turned red as different groups of necromancers struggled to dominate the mindless hordes toiling away there, sending hundreds of them against any perceivable target.  
  
All of this barely reached the Lich King as he stumbled onwards, hundreds of loyal undead throwing themselves in the meat grinder to buy time. Many doors fell shut behind, and the various necromantic constructs proved themselves an invaluable investment, unwilling to even attempt rebellion, and hacking many a rebel part as they stoically followed their commands.  
  
More doors closed, and there it was. Frostmourne, just a couple dozen steps away in the empty hall, the fighting barely audible through the thick walls. This was the turning point, this foolish rebellion would be put down, control reestablished. He limbed faster, towards the ancient weapon.  
  
He had made more than half the distance before he noticed that the halls were not empty. A figure had stepped from the shadows, now standing right next to Frostmourne, a figure wielding flame made of the darkest magic.

 _This has been planned,_ the Lich King thought. It had to be, without a plan, the intruder could not have know where to be at which point in time. The Lich King gathered the battered shreds of his power, though he knew it to be utterly pointless. Anyone planning for something like this would know what to expect, and the Lich King had never been so weakened, not even when Illidan had attacked Icecrown. Still, he steeled himself for a fight as the dark flame surrounding his foe rose higher.

The flame leaped out, and the pain returned at once, for a few seconds. Then, there was no more pain, and nothing more at all.  
  
The general bloodbath went on for hours, and it left the greatest stronghold of the Scourge a blood soaked charnel house, the fighting only dying down once almost every loyalist had died first. A few sensed their master's demise early and try to flee, and some of those succeeded, yet most were trapped in the lightless halls and died fighting. Among the free undead, the Lich King's death was felt with delay, and their rage was not sated until they were the standing amidst dozens of broken corpses. Only then it their fury fade away and reason returned. They looked around, many almost sheepishly throwing glances to each other's gore covered shapes, wondering what to do next. They had sensed the transportation of the citadel, every not in a coma had no choice but to feel it. Now they had retaken their selves and exacted their revenge, all over the span of no more than three hours. Both had been their purpose, what they dreamed about every night for years. The mixture of triumphant success and sudden emptiness was everywhere, along with wariness, as the different factions had not necessarily been on friendly terms in life.

Slowly, the leaders of the survivors made their way to the Halls of Reflection, over the remains of the Scourge guarding it. Here, resistance had been the strongest, even more fanatical than elsewhere, and the great doors of the hall had not yet been broken down. Cracking them open revealed the massive room to be almost completely empty, only a small portion of the floor was singed by flame, and upon that patch of ground, the torched remains of a body. It was the Lich King, it had to be, though without the trappings of his station, the armor and helmet, it was impossible to truly tell. Fear gripped the hearts of those who looked upon the scene, for Frostmourne was gone along with the other possessions of the fallen tyrant, and the onlookers knew what those items could do in the hands of someone ruthless enough to make use of them.

 

* * *

 

Three figures came together at the base of the spire, scanning each other with concern and vague hope. Prince Taldaram was now the acting leader of the San'Layn, his brothers dead in the fighting, his queen too wounded to do her duties just now. Across from him stood Svalna, strongest of the surviving Val'kyr, speaking both for her own people and the few remaining Deathknights, whose entire high command had been annihilated. Both of them were injured, and while still ready to cross blades if need be, the presence of the third person kept their hands away from their weapons. Sindragosa, Queen of the Frostbrood, had called for them, and even while she wore her humanoid form, Taldaram and Svalna were well aware of the dragon's far greater power and better state of health.

For all the raw might gathered here, the council was remarkably ineffective, and the three members were quite aware of it. None of them had made plans for this turn of events, both because revenge had been their focus, their anchor against madness, and because even if they had thought of anything, the relocation of the citadel made all that null and void. With seemingly no immediate danger, their minds circled around one question again and again. Who had struck down Arthas? None of them could answer it, for their hated master had been found alone in the Halls of Reflection, his body burned to the point of being hardly recognizable, and the artifacts he had carried were missing. Whoever had taken the Lich King out now had the Helm of Domination and Frostmourne, and the gathered three could only guess at the havoc someone crafty might wreak with such items. It was already a victory that the new owner had not attempted to enslave the undead in Icecrown again.  
  
It was almost an hour into the meeting when the three representatives felt someone approaching, a presence ancient and dreadful in power, making no attempts to hide said might. Taldaram loosened his sword in the scabbard, Svalna brought her halberd to bear, and all of them summoned what magic they could muster. In the neighbouring chambers, their lesser kin did the same, hands tightening around weapons and various magics being woven into brutal shapes.  
  
Without a sound, the western door opened, and an old man stepped through, clad in a long red coat with fur trim, a pair of piercing eyes the colour of molten brass scanning the room, a cold glare seemingly unimpressed by those gathered inside. In his youth, he had to have been ravishingly good looking, and he retained a distinguished handsomeness. With him came a faint smell of ash, scorched metal and sulfur.  
  
"I take it you are the ones in charge here after your master died by my hand?" The voice was laden with age, yet still undeniably strong and loud enough to fill the great chamber.  
  
"We are", Taldaram replied, and the two others nodded in agreement. "Though we had no love for the one you killed, and have no desire to avenge him."  
  
"What do you want?" Sindragosa asked the question on everyone's mind. "You killed our master, and we have spat on his carcass. Why come to us now, after the deed is done? If you wish to enslave us like Arthas did, you will get only blood and death."  
  
She met the old man's gaze directly, and the man in red chuckled. "You would try to stop me of course. But can you? Your master had be stronger than all of you to bind your minds, and yet I killed him."  
  
"You killed while he was it his weakest." Still, Sindragosa did neither blink nor look away. "A smart move on your part. We are less wounded than he was, and perhaps you could still best us. There are still thousands out there who share our stance. And all in here would fight to the death rather than be bound again. Your attempt would be nothing, a risk with a chance for payoff."  
  
Now the newcomer laughed. "True. I have all I wanted, and no reason to remain, my curiosity sated. Farewell then." With that, he turned and left.  
  
Whatever kind of scum the high necromancer had been, he had known his liquor. After the departure of the red stranger, the meeting had been ended, the councilors leaving to find something to actually do. Seeing how the Frost Brood had nothing immediate to take care of and being equal parts concerned and bored, Sindragosa had taken a more drastic approach of a solution for both: Getting drunk. More mindful parts of her head told her that doing so was a terrible idea, and were quickly brushed aside. Icecrown was sitting in some icy waste, not very different from its original location, and flying in a random direction was not helpful either. Scrying was something her subordinates could do just fine without her, and so she was here, in the private suite of someone who had been a high ranking member of the Cult of the Damned, sitting on the bed with a bottle in hand, and another one in easy reach. It took a spell of its own to make the alcohol affect her undead self, but the combination of a soft bed and hard drink did wonders to calm her down. Somewhat embarrassing, to think that the Frost Queen would spend her first real free time in years getting drunk in her humanoid form, but who cared? With Arthas dead and the fortress moved to another world, enough stranger things had happened.  
  
A knock at the door. It took Sindragosa a few seconds to recognize it, as in both the Scourge and her home before that, few people had bothered which such actions. Among dragons, one could sense another's approach long before knocking made sense, and in the Scourge, no one had cared much for such basic politeness.  
  
"Come in", she muttered, and the metal door creaked open.  
  
"Good choice of a drink?", the man in red asked as he stepped in. Perhaps she should have been surprised, but she wasn't, not really. Part of her went over her most devastating abilities for short range, yet much of her just didn't care much.  
  
"Good enough", she answered after taking another sip. "Grab one if you want."  
  
He did and sniffed at the fluid. "I came to express my respect for you."  
  
Sindragosa almost choked on her whiskey as she laughed. "Then my last few minutes must have ruined that entirely."  
  
"You stood up to me. No fear, and yet no overconfidence. You knew the chances, and yet you stood your ground, fierce resolve and cold truth. I admire that. And the power you displayed. And admittedly, your looks too."  
  
With a chuckle, Sindragosa refilled her glass and knocked it back in one go. "The way you're talking, one might think you are trying to get me into this bed." Strangely enough, the thought was not actually unpleasant.  
  
"And if I was?" The man in red grinned widely, showing perfect white teeth, all of them just a little too long and pointy to be human.  
  
The thought was raising her interest, in a mixture of remaining boredom, the alcohol and something deeper. To make a move on her like that showed an audacity she honestly liked. To imagine what so many might if they saw this...  
Internally a giddy, silly excitement began to spread. What was freedom without the ability to make foolish choices in the name of mere fun?  
  
"If it was", Sindragosa whispered as she stood up and closed the distance, until they almost touched, letting her breath flow over his face, "I would tell you that the man who slew Arthas and was bold enough to approach me two thirds through a bottle of that good stuff would not need to try very hard." She glanced around conspiratorially and winked. "We are alone here, and this bed is rather comfy. Continue the line of thought."  
  
He leaned in to kiss her, and when the kiss broke, it was her turn to grin. "An adequate answer." She pulled him with her as she stepped back and let herself fall onto the bed.  
  
  
"You should come with me", he said quietly later, as they were both lying on the bed, still somewhat entangled.  
  
Lazily, Sindragosa opened one eye. "Is that not a rather hasty proposition?"  
  
"Perhaps. But I have learned to go with my gut. Has served me well so far."  
  
"Are you following your gut, or something further down?"  
  
He laughed quietly. "Why would it matter? As long as you like it too, the reasoning is barely worth considering." He moved his hand down her side, from the shoulder all the way down to her thigh, apply a gentle pressure. "Just think of the delight we could find."  
  
"I don't even know your name, and you haven't asked for mine. All I know for certain is that you are not what you appear to be."  
  
He laughed again. "As if you were an half elf with horns! It is said that a lady may have her secrets, so I demand the same. And why do you care so much for reasons, when the result is what matters in the end, for it is the end? And to humour you, what are your other options? To travel randomly through lands you don't know? To stay here, ruling a ruin in, how would the common folk call it? Bumfuck, icy nowhere, a thousand miles from anything vaguely of interest to anyone but snow bears and ice elementals?"  
  
"You might be right. So, what would you have us do?"  
  
His smile widened. "Well, as long as we are in this state, I can imagine a great many things. Let the future come when the time arrives...", he kissed her again, "for now, let us join each other's company a little more..."  
  
It took sometime before either was in any state of mind to talk about the future again. Finally, Sindragosa did pursued that line of inquiry again.  
  
"I do not even know your name."  
  
"Neither do I know yours. I know your face, your scent, your taste. What is a name compared to that?"  
  
"Something more personal than a physical form any decent spell can change utterly. Mine is Sindragosa."  
  
"Zalkar, for friends that is."  
  
"So, you would really take me with you? How would that work out exactly?"  
  
"Do not pretend to he unaware of your own power. You radiate it like a fire radiates light when your control slips. Just think of the fun we could have out there. Who would be able to make us stop if we did not wish to?"  
  
Slowly and with some hesitation, Sindragosa nodded at that. It was true, and Zalkar too did let his arcane might show. If her senses told her anything, his boast about being a match for Arthas in power was by no means far from the truth. And how many people of such abilities were out there? She didn't know that about this world, but if it was similar to Azeroth, it would not be large number, maybe a few dozen. Two working close together would be a nightmare to deal with for anyone. As basic and unrefined as the instinct was, holding immense power and using it freely had an undeniable appeal.  
  
"Where would we go I said yes?"  
  
"I would have you take a blind shot a map of the continent. Truth be told, it matters not that much, and we can change it anytime."

 With a light heartedness she had not felt in all her undead state, Sindragosa grinned with almost juvenile, mischievous glee. "So get me damn map."


End file.
